


Combat

by Emma



Series: The Queen's Magicians [11]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is killing weevils, and Torchwood is out to stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

          The heavenly scent of waffles reached Gwen as she was pulling up her trousers. She grinned. Rhys had the day off and obviously he had decided to send her off to work in the second best way possible. The grin widened and became positively lascivious; the very best had been earlier on, in the shower. She had to give the man points for flexibility, not to mention endurance!

          She checked herself out in the mirror one last time. Toshiko had been right; the blue really did nice things for her complexion. She flicked at the long crystal drops in her ears. They did complement the jumper perfectly. She still winced when she remembered the price. Knowing Tosh had done wonders for her style but it had been a complete disaster on her savings account.

          When she got to the kitchen she found Rhys putting the final touches on breakfast. He had set the dining table with his grandmother's lace tablecloth and her good china and orange juice in goblets. He had even dressed up in a coat and tie. But it wasn't that what seized her lungs and made her want to burst into tears. In the middle of the table, instead of a centerpiece, was a small ring box.

          “Rhys...”

          “Don't tell me you're surprised, Gweenie. You had to have known I was going to ask.”

          “Yeah, I knew.” Her next breath was almost a sob. “But before we talk about that, there's something you need to know. Something that might change your mind.”

          Pure panic flashed in his eyes. “You're sick? There's something wrong?”

          “No, no! That's not it.” She took a deep breath, and blurted it out before she could talk herself out of honesty. “I slept with someone else.”

          The panic gave way to bafflement and then to rage. “What are you saying, Gwen?”

          “It happened only once. I could tell you I had a reason, and I did, but that doesn't really matter. I did it. I could tell you I'm sorry, and I am because it hurts you, us, and I think I'm about to lose the most important thing in my life, but Rhys, I can't be sorry it happened. It saved my sanity, I think.”

          “For God's sake, would you try to make sense?” he roared. “Listen to yourself. Being unfaithful saved your sanity? What kind of stupid line is that?”

          “It's not a line at all. And I wasn't unfaithful!” She screamed back. “I slept with someone. Once. After I had spent the night with him in a tiny room filled with body parts prepared like beef for the market and we were going to be next, and then we weren't, and Goddess, Rhys, they weren't going to tenderize us and feed on us and it was... you were away on a trip and I needed something to remind me I was alive! Something to drive the terror out of me!”

          He sat on one of the high stools at the kitchen counter. “Tell me.”

          She told him about the cannibals, leaving nothing out and sparing herself nothing. “And we went to his apartment and he treated my bruises and we showered and went to bed. The next afternoon we went for coffee and then I came home. And it never happened again.”

          “And I'm supposed to believe that?”

          She shook her head, sending her earrings swinging. “I don't... I think what I need you to do is think about whether you can live with this. If you can't... I'll understand.” She grabbed her jacket. “I won't come home tonight. Once you've made your decision, you know where to find me.”

          As she reached the door, he spoke softly. “Why did you tell me, Gwen? I would never have known.”

          She turned back to him. “Because if we go into this marriage it's forever, and to have forever you need to know you can live with the worst thing the other person has ever done. I will swear to you by my allegiance to the Goddess that what I did was not betrayal and that I will never betray you. But you're the one who has to decide if you can forgive me.”

          “Where will you be?”

          “I'll see if Tosh can put me up. If not, I'll probably stay at the Hub. Jack and Ianto stay at Ianto's apartment these days.”

          She barreled down the stairs, paying no attention to where she was going. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she batted them away with the back of her hands. She had done the right thing, yet it felt like she had made the biggest mistake of her life. But she _had_ done the right thing; she had seen what secrets had done to her parents' marriage – the vicious fights and the icy silences – and she wanted no part of that.

         She decided to walk to the Hub. It was a cool, sunny day, and maybe the walk would help her clear her head. It had turned out to be a very busy spring after a frigid winter that had driven all the weevils underground. Even the gnomes and pixies had retreated into Annwfn to escape the ice. Now it was as if everyone was making up for lost time. They had spent the last two months running around putting out fires all over Wales; literally, in the case of one barmy poltergeist at a girl's school in Swansea.

         The past week had been the worst. Weevils were turning up dead all over Cardiff. Five, by last count, including the one the Fairwater station sergeant had called in the night before. Something had spooked the rank and file bad enough to have them bypass Headquarters and call Torchwood directly. Owen had jumped at the chance of doing the autopsy himself and he and Ianto had gone to pick up the body. She expected Owen to be elbows-deep in weevil guts by the time she got to the Hub.

         She turned from Bute Street into Hemingway Road. She didn't like this part of the walk. Some beautiful nineteenth century buildings had been torn down and replaced with a block of flats with a car park behind it that could be reached by way of a narrow cobblestone mews at either end. She knew the old buildings had been past saving, and that the architects of the new ones had really done their best to create something that would blend in with all the other buildings, but she still missed the old ones.

         A commotion at the end of the mews caught her attention.  The place was still not ready for occupancy; not all the tiny ground floor gardens were finished, and the construction fence was still up around the car park. She glanced into the mews but didn't see anything. Shrugging, she started to move away, but she heard another sound, and this one she recognized.  There was a weevil in pain somewhere.

         She ran down the mews just in time to see two men wrestle a weevil into the back of a van. It was bleeding from a gash on the jaw, but it had given as good as he had gotten. One of the men had the front of his Y-neck jumper slashed to ribbons and several deep gashes on his chest; the other had several bruises on his cheeks and forehead. They had shoved the weevil's head into a bag and were holding it in a headlock as they scrambled to avoid its kicks.

          “Oi! Stop that!” She shouted. “Stop it!”

         One of the men jumped into the van and pulled at the weevil while the other man pushed. Once they had him in the van, the other man jumped in and slammed the doors shut. The van took off at high speed, careening into the half-finished car park, made a wide circle, and bore down on Gwen. She threw herself out of the way, rolling across the cobblestones. From that position, all she could do was watch as the van drove off.

          “X162 MTK, X162 MTK, X162 MTK,” she chanted as she tapped her earpiece. “Tosh, yeah, listen, run me this plate. X162 MTK. And is Jack there?... Yeah? Put me on the speaker.” She scrambled to her feet. “Jack? I just saw two men shove a weevil into the back of a van. Gave Tosh the licence plate. Bute and Hemingway. Car park of the new block of flats...Yeah. No, nothing to see, really. All right.”

          She ran the rest of the way and used the slab to get down to the Hub. Tosh was at her terminal, using the large screen to track a small blip through a Cardiff street map while Jack hovered. Ianto was working through the previous day's incident reports, as he did every morning. She could hear Owen in the medical bay, dictating his report.

          “Anything on my licence plate, Tosh?” she shouted from midair.

          “That's what I'm working on. I've been tracking the van using the CCTV feed.” Tosh waved a piece of paper at her. “The van is registered to Tresillian Transport, owned and operated by one Alan Tresillian. Not exactly a booming business, as the van is the only asset owned by the corporation. Mr. Tresillian has sailed close to the edge of legal a few times but has kept one foot firmly on the side of the angels. No charges and therefore no record.”

          “Why would a small time crook want with a weevil?” Gwen jumped off the slab even before it stopped moving and walked over to where Tosh and Jack were. “Because what I saw was definitely a kidnapping.”

          “That's one question.” Ianto strolled over also, holding another piece of paper. “Here's another. I have been correlating police reports for the last few weeks. There has been a significant uptick on the number of injuries and deaths from causes resembling weevil attacks. The largest number of injured, and three of the deaths, have been healthy men between the ages of twenty-four and forty-five. What are the odds of weevils methodically and nearly exclusively attacking males who can fight back?”

          “Astronomical,” Jack said. “Weevils attack only for two reasons. One, if they are starving. There are easier ways to get food than to attack grown men. Two, if they feel threatened. Weevils are stronger and faster than most human beings. They don’t feel threatened by individuals, only groups.”

          “They better start.”

          They turned to look at Owen as he came up the medical bay’s stair. “That one,” he pointed over his shoulder, “was killed by one pair of human fists. The fists bled a little and I was able to run a quick DNA scan. One human being beat that weevil to death.”

          Jack frowned. “Owen, that’s not possible. Weevils are… No. I don’t see how they could.”

          “Simple. First feed your weevil with enough tranquilizers to neutralize his advantages.” Disgust dripped from every syllable of Owen’s answer. “Dope it up so it’s more like an aging boxer who can still kick you if he lands a blow.”

          Gwen was looking in Jack’s direction as Owen made his report, and she noticed the sudden tightening under the easy smile. Whoever was doing this was in for a bad time, and no mistake. Then what Owen had said struck home and she realized the reason for Jack’s anger. “Are you saying someone’s setting up fights between weevils and humans?”

          “Looks like.” Owen said. “The drug given to the weevil is the kind that breaks down in the bloodstream very quickly. Twelve to twenty-four hours after death, there’s no sign of it. We got lucky when the Fairwater people called us in as soon as they discovered the body.”

          “The van has stopped.” Tosh announced. “Industrial warehouse park on Mardy Road.”

          “Ianto, with me.”  Jack said. “Owen, get a hold of as many autopsy reports both for the humans and the weevils and see what else jumps out at you. Tosh, see what you can find about Mr. Tresillian’s family, friends, and associates. Be careful not to get caught.”

          She grinned at him. “Do I ever?”

          He tapped her cheek. “Minx. Gwen, call up every contact you have in every police department in Wales and see if you can find what didn’t get into print. There’s always something in cases like this.” He stopped to peer at her.  “Are you all right?”

          “Yeah.” She gave him a bright smile. “Go on. Remember it’s your turn to get lunch. Don’t let this one,” she stuck her tongue out at Ianto, “talk you into any of that green stuff.”

          “Don’t worry, cariad,” Ianto said blandly. “Only the best bacon grease calories for you.”


	2. Chapter 2

          The industrial park was actually a series of windowless rectangular boxes lined up on either side of two gravel lanes. The van was parked in front of one of them, its front bumper pushed up against the garage-style roller door. All the van's doors were wide open, and the keys were in the ignition.

          “Invitation to a theft,” Ianto said. “Poor luck these blokes have had lately. First Gwen spots them with the weevil and now they can't even get the criminal population of Cardiff to interest themselves in their van.”

          Jack grinned. “Ours not to complain about.” He tapped his earpiece. “Anything, Tosh?”

          “Not a thing. The whole place is deserted. It's all storage facilities for miles.” He could hear the distaste in her voice. “There's some sort of energy lock near you.”

          “The garage door. It has been giving us the creepy-crawlies since we got here. I'll take care of it.” He ran his fingers along the frame carefully. “Aha! There is is.”

          He flattened his palm against the wood. There was a sharp whine and a loud crack. “Sorted. Let's see what they hiding.”

          They rolled up the door. The room was hot and airless, and it reeked of weevil. The reason for it was immediately apparent. Cages lined the long sides of the box; each had a dirty blanket on the floor and a foul-smelling bucket in one corner. They were empty, but there was no doubt as to what they had held. At the back of the room a cheap plywood partition had been used to create a minuscule office area.

          “We might keep these cages about,” Jack said conversationally as he inspected the cages. “They might come in useful when dealing with Tresillian and his friends.”

          Ianto had wandered back to the office area. “I don't think that would be necessary.”

          His tone of voice alerted Jack. “Do I need to call Owen?”

          “I don't think so.” Ianto was taking pictures using his cell phone camera. “This was no weevil kill.”

          Jack peered into the office over Ianto's shoulder. There were two men in the office. They had been tied to the chairs with electrical cord., and each one was sporting a neat hole on the right temple.

          “I see what you mean.” He tapped his earpiece in twice, paused, then tapped twice again. “Andy? We have something for you. I think it's related to the recent weevil kills... yes.” He gave Andy the address. “No, we won't be here. Some other things to do. Can you get away this afternoon?... Yes, that would be...”

          Ianto's touch on his arm made him look up. Ianto made a shushing gesture as he pointed to the outside. After a second Jack heard it too. Footsteps on the gravel. Someone was walking outside; whoever it was was trying to make as little noise as possible. He made a spinning gesture with his index finger. Ianto nodded, and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Jack could see his pupils had expanded to consume the iris, leaving only a thin ring of blue showing. He knew that if he had been simply a mortal, even a talented one, Ianto would have been invisible to him.

          He walked towards the exit, making sure whoever was outside could hear him. As he reached the roll door he launched himself forward, diving under the iron bar that came swinging down, rolling out of the way and letting Ianto deal with his attacker. He heard a choked-off scream and a grunt, and a body fell to the ground next to him. He pushed it over so they could see his face.

          It was the kind of face, as the cliché went, that only a mother could love. The nose had been broken more than once and it had set crooked, pulling the upper lip up at one end into a permanent sneer. There was a scar bisecting one eyebrow and running under the hairline. From what they could see, the rest of the body matched the face; big, beefy, and scarred.

          “Boxer?” Ianto asked as he took several pictures of the man, then answered himself. “No. There's something about him that doesn't speak to actual exercise and training.”

          Jack jumped to his feet. “Soft around the middle. More of a weekend warrior sort.”

          “The kind that fights drugged-up weevils?”

          “Probably. Help me pull him up, will you?”

          They got the man on his feet. Ianto snapped police-issue cuffs around his wrists. The man, obviously still stunned from Ianto's blow, didn't try to fight them. Jack looked at him thoughtfully.

          “Ianto, let's get him inside. Maybe he should just join his mates... don't like that idea, do you?”

          The ringing of a cell phone interrupted him. The silent man sneered at him, as if daring him to take it. Jack reached into the man's pocket and pulled it out.

          “Yes?”

          “Stop meddling into what doesn't concern you” Whoever was at the other end was using some sort of technology to make their voice sound artificial. “Torchwood has more important things to do than to protect some animals.”

          “My town, my rules,” Jack said softly. “And those animals are under my protection. I would suggest you take your games elsewhere.”

          “Stop meddling,” the mechanical voice repeated. “We won't tell you again.”

          The end of the conversation was punctuated by a soft popping sound. The man's throat suddenly spurted blood, and he fell back, a look of surprise in his face. Ianto and Jack dove behind the van and crouched, waiting to see if more bullets came their way. There was nothing but silence for several minutes and then they heard the sound of police cars coming down Mardy Road.

          “The cavalry,” Ianto said. “A few minutes late, as usual.”

          “Are you all right?”

          Ianto examined himself briefly. “No bones broken, no holes in my throat, the suit trousers may be a tax write-off. Nothing unusual.”

          “Mouthy.” Jack replied, smiling. “There's Andy.”

          They handed over three corpses and some information to the Senior Constable and went on their way. Jack drove with his usual disregard for traffic rules while Ianto downloaded the pictures he had taken. “Tosh, I'm sending you some pictures. See if you can identify any of them. Jack and I are on our way back. Andy will follow as soon as he can. Is Owen there? All right. See you soon.”

          He turned to Jack. “Cardiff Hospital got another injured man. This one is in much better shape. Gwen went to interview him.”

          “Good. Andy's coming over after he finishes here. Let's go.”

          They stopped at their favorite Indian takeaway and loaded up on punjaabi samosas, Dal makhni, chicken tikka jalfreezi, and prawns ulathiyathu. When Jack dithered over the sweets menu, Ianto pointed out that they still had some of the cocoanut meringues Sister Enid had made for Tosh, not to mention the salted chocolates Ianto imported from California. Jack followed him out of the restaurant without complaint.

          When they got to the Hub, they found Andy already waiting, flirting with Tosh as usual. Owen sat at his terminal, supposedly completing his reports, while he pestered Tosh for help and traded barbs with the other man. Jack, Ianto, and Gwen exchanged grins and eye rolls behind the others’ backs. Since their encounter with Mary, Owen had become very protective of Tosh, and had taken to playing gooseberry every time Andy was around. Even funnier was that Tosh, that usually most observant of women, didn’t have a clue as to what was happening. Andy, on the other hand, was having a ball.

          “Escaped early, I see,” Jack said to Andy as they all headed upstairs to the conference room. “Do you have anything for us?”

          Andy shooed Ianto off to the coffee machine and took over setting out the food. “Three other bodies out by Llandaff. Killed the same way.”

          Owen plunked down plates and cutlery. “Someone’s cleaning house.”

          I think so.” Andy helped himself to prawns and rice. “Still, at the rate they’re using up people they must run out sooner or later.”

          “Or they’re a really big organization,” Ianto said, “and the body count is irrelevant.”

          “The mafia is running illegal weevil fights?” Owen offered the tray of samosas to Tosh. “In Cardiff?”

          “One thing I don’t understand…” Gwen started then stopped.

          “Watch out everyone,” Ianto quipped. “Gwen question hurtling in. Injuries will be attended to in order of severity.”

          She threw a napkin at him. “Prat. Seriously. I’ve known about weevils all my life. They live in the sewers and scavenge for food, and if you give them a wide berth they’ll do the same. But what are they? Where do they come from? I took a look in our files and we don’t have much either.”

          “On purpose.” Jack put down his fork. “Those poor bastards don’t need any more grief.”

          “You protect them, don’t you?” She asked. “I noticed we buy those boiler suits. And there’s a careful count of babies. Not many of those.”

          “No. Not many.” The icy flatness in Jack’s voice that made them all sit up straight. “All right. Maybe there are some things you should know. All of you.”

          He seemed to think about it for a moment. “There were people here before the Celts. Before us, I suppose I should say. They built the megaliths and the first versions of Stonehenge and Avebury. They didn't have a chance against us when we arrived. They weren't a peaceful people but they weren't warriors, and all they had were bronze and stone weapons. Iron was almost unheard of, the property of kings. When they realized they were going to lose their lands, they gathered at Bryn Cader Faner, over the grave of their greatest sorcerer-king. And they prayed that he would make them stronger and faster than their opponents.”

          “And he did this?” Tosh sounded ill. “He turned his people in weevils?”

          “No. The prayers were heard, all right. But not by anything that had been mortal on this Earth. They were heard by a demon.”

          Andy made the sign of the cross. “Dear God in Heaven.”

          “The demon wanted an army. Not for anything important. Just one of those wars that demons indulge in for prestige or territory. So he took these people and turned them into what you see now. But the demon made a mistake. He was so certain that these people would bow down before him that he didn't do much to their minds. The millennia of abuse took their toll, but under it all they burned to be free … and to come home.” He sipped some water. “What happened to them was not their fault. Torchwood has always kept an eye out for them, make sure they are clothed and fed, specially in the winter. They are dying out because one of the side effects of what the demon did was to make them mostly sterile. By my calculations they will be gone in fifty years.”

          “Jack, when I was doing the autopsy,” Owen said hesitantly, “I noticed something about their DNA...” He stopped, looking at a loss for words.

          “Go ahead. Say it.”

          “There are elements of your DNA in them.”

          Jack shook his head. “It's the other way around. You know, most of the legends about demons begetting children on human women are just that. Legends. The human immune system treats demon sperm like a pathogen. Most demons couldn't even start to overcome that. It takes a great deal of planning and preparation, not to mention a hell of a lot of raw power to pull it off.”

          Ianto reached over to grasp Jack's hand in his. “Your father made the weevils.”

          “The correct word is design. He designed them and then he realized how he could use them to design the child he wanted.” Jack felt a surge of relief when he felt Ianto's fingers twine with his and hang on with a punishing grip. “I protect the weevils because in a terrifying, but very real way, they're my older brothers.”


	3. Chapter 3

          After Jack’s revelations, they had managed to keep up the semblance of a business meeting. Gwen reported that the man in hospital was too scared to breathe, much less to speak to anyone about whatever had happened to him, but that his injuries had definitely been caused by a weevil. Owen had discussed the details of his autopsies, much to the disgust of Gwen, Tosh, and Andy, who complained loudly of having guts and gore along with their cocoanut meringues. Lunch had ended with a brief but spirited barrage of serviettes aimed at Owen's head after a particularly repulsive description.

          Jack had retreated to his office after lunch to make some calls, or so he said. Ianto watched him go without a word. He did his usual afternoon rounds, then, after he had judged enough time had passed, he made some coffee, filled a mug, and went upstairs.

          Jack took the mug with one hand and Ianto’s hand with the other. “Thank you.”

          “For afternoon coffee?” Ianto moved to sit on the edge of the desk, his thigh providing a comfortable place for Jack to rest his arm. “Maybe I should have brought a biscuit too.”

          “Ianto…”

          “Jack, you care for me knowing what I am. Did you think it would be different for me?”

          Jack brought Ianto’s hand to his cheek. “No, I suppose not. Though I wouldn’t have blamed you. Demon, weevil…”

          “Dark empath, mind-rapist, vampire food… It’s not what happens to us that makes us, Jack. It’s what we choose to do with it. You taught me that.”

          He leaned in and pressed his lips to Jack’s. The kiss deepened as Jack’s hands came up to frame his face and hold him in place and Jack’s tongue swept into his mouth. Ianto leaned in even further, loving the intoxicating, triumphant feeling that came from being kissed by Jack, of being Jack's chosen.

          A loud cough made them pull apart. Ianto looked in the direction of the sound and saw Tosh standing by the door, holding some papers in her hand. She was flushed and breathing a bit hard. He gave her a wicked grin and watched as the flush deepened.

          “Yes, Tosh?”

          “We have some interesting results you might want to see.”

          “And they sent you as messenger?” Jack asked.

          “Well,” she answered pertly. “These days we’re likely to find you… like I found you. Not that we have any objections, but Owen is easily embarrassed and Gwen tends to drool a bit too much. So I’m the best choice. I only drool a little.”

          Laughing, Jack stood up. “That’s a logical decision if I’ve ever heard one.”

          They found Gwen and Owen in the sitting area drinking coffee and eating biscuits. Jack plunked himself down between them. Grabbing the last biscuit out of Gwen’s hand, he bit into it with gusto. “Report, children.”

          “You first, Tosh.” Gwen said. “All I have is some confirmation of what you found.”

          “All right.” Tosh used a remote to activate the largest monitor at her desk A photo of the man Jack and Ianto had briefly captured was displayed on the left hand side. “Bob Kasey. Mediocre professional boxer and failed pub owner. For the last ten years he’s worked for Lynch Frost, the estate agents. Odd jobs. Cleanups, furniture moving, that sort of thing. Now, when I was looking into Tresillian Transport,” Alan Tresillian’s face came up on the right, “I found out they worked almost exclusively for Lynch Frost. The industrial park is owned and operated by Lynch Frost.”

          She hit the remote again and another man’s face appeared. It was a hard face, but not unattractive. “Mark Lynch, CEO of Lynch Frost. Came out of nowhere fifteen years ago and built an industrial property empire. His official biography hits all the right notes. Right schools, right events, right charities. And it's all rubbish.”

          “And his unofficial one?” Jack asked.

          “Council housing boy, scholarship to St. Paul’s cathedral school, scholarship to what was then Middlesex Polytechnic. Altogether unexceptional, really, but not the background that would have let him move in City circles. But this is the really interesting part.”

          She pulled up another photo, showing Mark Lynch wearing boxing gears but no gloves. “Mark Lynch earned his living expenses during college in fight clubs. He was very successful. Then he branched out into other sorts of bets. In fact, he made his first million on a bet that he could climb the London Eye and dive off the top.”

          “Arsehole.” Owen spoke with the disdain of the casualty ward doctor for the idiots that made their hard lives harder. “It's him, Jack.”

          “Watch out, Owen. Your prejudices are showing.”

          “In this case, he's probably right.” Gwen said. “Mike ap Gwyn at Caernarfon swears that Mark Lynch is responsible for a couple of fatal accidents up Yr Wyddfa. Rumour is he drove two men to near-bankruptcy then told them in front of witnesses that he would return everything they had lost and invest a million pounds into their business if they climbed Snowdon in the fog by way of Clogwyn y Grochan. They fell off one of the paths. And there's a former detective inspector in Shrewsbury who's driving tour buses for a living after he tried to bring charges against Lynch for his part in the suicide of a well-known schoolmistress.”

          “So we are fairly certain that Mark Lynch is behind this,” Ianto said, “but we have no proof. And we're not likely to get it, the way people run for cover or get murdered every time we get close.”

          “We need to work from the inside,” Gwen said. “But how?”

          “Simple.” Owen jabbed a finger in the direction of the monitor. “Someone has to draw the tosser out. It can't be either one of you. Whoever shot at you saw  you,” he said pointing to Jack and Ianto in turn. “It can't be one of the girls because men like Lynch don't really think of women as sentient beings. So it has to be me. I'm their sort of person. Council housing, scholarship, a little too brash, a lot too unrefined, given to taking long chances because that's what paid off. Even if Ianto here were to use his talent for disguise, he'd have to practice to be like Mark Lynch. On the other hand, I'm exactly like him.”

          “You're nothing like him,” Tosh protested.

          “Not now, but there but for the grace of God and Jack go I.” He turned back to Jack. “Well?”

          “All right. Tosh, we need to give Owen a solid background. Lynch probably runs complete checks on everyone who comes hear him. Make sure Owen's new life stands up to scrutiny. Give him a great deal to lose.”

          She grinned at him. “I know just the thing.”

          Owen groaned. “She's going to do something horrid, I know she is. So what's the best way to meet this bloke?”

          “The Siren. Place with all female bartenders?” Tosh said without turning around. “Lynch goes there almost every night. Owen, do you have any clothes that don't look like you got got them at Oxfam?” She laughed at his outraged bellow. “Well, the king of jellied eels can't go around looking like something the cat dragged in, now, can he?”

          “The what? No, never mind.” He turned the monitor around and studied her work. “Lord, you are really something. All right. I'll go home now and get ready.”

          “Wear the green silk tie I gave you for Christmas,” Ianto ordered. “The tracker will look perfect against it.”

          As Owen left, Ianto, Gwen, and Jack moved as one to look at the monitor. They burst out laughing at the garish website and at Owen's portrait, looking smug and self-satisfied while staring into a giant vat full of eels.

          About an hour later, Owen phoned. “I'm in place. Tracker on, Tosh. Keep an eye on me, will you? I don't fancy ending up in hospital tonight. Here comes Lynch.”

          They listened in as Owen chatted up the pretty bartender. _Moving my business to Cardiff.... I'm trying to find industrial properties. Processing plant and warehouses, that sort of thing..._ Her answers were lost in the music, but they did hear Mark Lynch introduce himself and start making his sales pitch. Owen's _let's go sit over there where it's a bit more quiet_ was followed by another burst of music and then _God, that's better. If that's the only entertainment I can find in Cardiff I'm going to be going back to London frequently._ Mark Lynch laughed. _There's better things to do, if you have a mind to it._ Owen, _Like what?_ Another laugh from Lynch. _A better way to let out the anger._ Owen, with just the right amount of defensiveness, _I'm not angry._ Lynch, amused, _everybody is, Owen. Something's coming. Out there in the darkness, something is coming. And it brings rage. Soon enough that's all we'll have._

          Owen, _I'll keep it in mind, but not tonight. I've had a long day and I don't feel like traipsing all over Cardiff looking for entertainment._ Lynch, eager now, _actually we're quite close to the place. Coming?_ Owen, not too eager, _why not? I'm still wired._

          They left the club and walked towards the dock area, away from the lights and noise of the tourist spots. As they passed last of the flat blocks on Pier Head Road, the image on the monitor disappeared and was replaced with old-fashioned white “snow”. At the same time the tracker signal sputtered and fell silent. Toshiko swore sulfurously and inventively and her fingers went into overdrive as she tried to retrieve the signals. 

          “Forget it, Tosh,” Ianto said quietly. “It's not mechanical failure. Someone's interfering.”

          “What do we do, Jack?” Gwen suddenly felt on the edge of tears. “We can't lose him.”

          “We won't. Ianto, would you help Tosh with the preparations? Gwen, with me.”

          She followed him down the same corridor that led to the underground beach. They passed by the hidden door and kept going. The corridor turned left and then right again. It ended at a broad wood and steel door. Jack took a key from his pocket and unlocked it. 

          “Be careful. She's not used to strangers.”

          He pushed the door open. Beyond it there was another corridor lined on either side by small rooms resembling cells. “A prison? We keep prisoners here?”

          “We have, if it was necessary. Mostly we use them to house sick or hurt weevils. And Janet.”

          “Janet?”

          “She's a female weevil. Probably the one and only fertile female in the Cardiff population at the moment.” Jack opened one of the cells. “She's very intelligent and she recognizes us as individuals, which most weevils can't do.” He turned on the small light above the door. “Janet?”

          A weevil came out of the shadows. She – Jack said she was a she, but to Gwen's eyes she was identical to every other weevil she had ever seen – moved close to Jack and sniffed him. Jack copied the gesture. Janet moved to Gwen and sniffed her also. A little doubtfully, Gwen sniffed back. To her surprise Janet's smell was earthy but pleasant, a bit like a forest after a thorough rain.

          “Janet,” Jack said. “We need your help. Someone is hurting weevils.” Janet whined low in the throat and seemed to be nodding. Jack took her hand. “Can you help us find them, Janet?” Another whine and nod. “Can you show us where the hurt weevils are?”

          “We're going to use Janet to find Owen?” Gwen gasped.

          “Weevils are slightly telepathic with each other. Janet can probably sense another weevil, especially if it's hurt. She'll lead us to the club.”

          “And Owen.” Gwen said.

           “Yes. And Owen.”


	4. Chapter 4

          They left the SUV in one of the dark side streets. Jack, in front, led Janet by the hand. Gwen and Tosh followed directly behind him, with Ianto bringing up the rear. Jack had tried to talk the women into staying at the Hub but all he had gotten was a nasty sneer from Gwen and a threat to kick him in his privates from Tosh. He had given in, but had privately asked Ianto to keep an eye on them. Ianto had rolled his eyes at him but nodded.

          As they passed a parking garage, Ianto stopped them briefly. “Too full. This is a city lot for office workers. It should be empty at this time of night.” He tapped his earpiece. “Andy? Yeah... A concerned citizen wants to report that there's something going on in the city lot on the other side of the Caspian Point office building. Yes... Good.” He closed the connection and grinned at the others. “Whoever manages to get back to his car will find a welcome committee.”

          They went past the fancy restaurants and clubs. Jack kept a light glamour over Janet; whoever looked in their direction saw two couples taking their grandmother out to dinner, a common enough sight in Cardiff. When they got to the place where they had last seen Owen, they stopped, and Jack gave Janet one of Owen's lab coats.

          “Here, Janet. This belonged to Owen. You remember Owen? He's with the weevils. Can you find them?”

          She brought the lab coat to her nose and gave a piteous whine. Owen was her primary caretaker. He had been the one who had found her , howling over the corpse of her newborn child. He had helped her bury it and then had brought her to the Hub, fed her, cleaned her up, and treated her injuries. Owen pretended it was all part of his ongoing study of weevil biology, but Jack knew that he worried about Janet. More than once he had found the doctor checking up on her on the CCTV feed when she was ill, or bringing her a box of her favorite biscuits. She looked for him and had sometimes refused to eat if anyone but Owen brought her food.

          “Owen, Janet. Find Owen?”

          She whined one more time, but this sound had an odd command to it. She turned and loped off into the dark. They ran after her, past shuttered or boarded-over warehouses until they reached the end of the paved street. Here everything had been demolished. The only thing standing was a two-story building, set right at the water line, with wide rails leading into the bay. The wide esplanade in front of it was lit only by the light of a single lamp post on the other side of the gravel road.

          “Shipyard,” Ianto whispered. “Small wooden boats. Bespoke. Very expensive.”

          Tosh pointed the scanner she was holding at the building. “At least fifty heat signatures in there, Jack. I don't think we can mount an assault on the place.”

          “I wouldn't be so sure,” Gwen said, looking over her shoulder. “We've got reinforcements.”

          Jack was startled to see weevils coming out of the shadows. He had never seen that many in one place. They arranged themselves in a wide semi-circle around the team. Their attention was centered on Janet, who stood, head slightly cocked to one side, as if listening for something. Then, just as Jack was beginning to think nothing would happen, Janet growled low in her throat and set off at a loping run towards the building.

          They ran after her. The strangeness of it all struck Jack as hilarious and he had to stop himself from chortling. Next to him, Gwen was actually giggling.

          “The charge of the weevil brigade,” she gasped as she ran. “I don't think...” 

          She ducked instinctively as a stream of light shot out from Toshiko's hand and struck the door. The wood flexed and warped and then exploded inwards, taking a good portion of the frame with it. Jack didn't even have time to remonstrate with his technologist. Janet hit the front steps and kept moving through the gaping hole, and he followed her at full speed.

          The ground floor of the building was a cavernous, high-ceilinged open expanse suitable for housing hulls. There was a small cluster of offices at one end. All the ship building equipment had been removed and a large steel cage, more or less the size and shape of a boxing ring, had been built in the center. The mezzanine floor above had been gutted and turned into a viewing balcony. The balcony railings were jammed with men and women in evening clothes, looking shocked and terrified as weevils poured in. Maddened, fully awake weevils.

          The people around the cage – the ones who had wanted to be close to the action – were desperately trying to push their way out through boarded -up windows or the repair bay doors at the far end, but they couldn't budge them. The weevils moved in, herding them back into the middle of the room.

          Jack perceived it all in a single glance, but didn't stop for details. “Gwen, Tosh, clean out the upstairs. Ianto, with me!”

          They set off after Janet, who was making a beeline for the offices. As they reached the doors, one of them slammed open, and a man lunged out, a gun in his hand. He shot Janet twice. The weevil dropped like a stone. Leaping over her body, the man tried to run for the door, but he brought up face to face with Ianto. The sudden appearance of a man right in front of him tore a scream out of him, a scream that was cut short when Ianto slammed his fist on the side of his neck. As he fell, Ianto calmly removed the gun from his hand.

          Janet's shooting had sent a commotion through the weevil ranks. They stopped as one, raised their faces, and howled, a long, mournful wail that raised the hackles of everyone present. Many people put their hands over their ears as if to shut it out. The wail died down and in the sudden silence the rhythmic slap-slap of the waves against the ship railway outside could be heard in the room, sounding eerily like a heartbeat.

          “Owen's not up here, Jack,” Gwen called down.

          Jack looked up to see the mezzanine spectators huddled against the wall, pinned in place by his two female operatives, both holding large guns and looking rather as if they were daring someone to do something foolish. He noticed no one was taking them up on it.

          Downstairs, however, one of the men in evening clothes decided he would try to bluff his way out of the situation. He pushed his way through the crowd. “What's going on here? Who the hell do you think you are?”

          Jack ignored him and started for one of the other offices. The man tried to lunge at his back, but was stopped by a single gunshot that chipped the marble between his legs and sent him scrambling backwards.

          “We would prefer if you stayed with your group, sir,” Ianto said in a butlerish voice that had Jack grinning. “And as for who we are, we are Torchwood.”

          “And that's supposed to scare me? Do you know who I am? My father can...”

          As he spoke he swaggered towards Ianto. Unfortunately he came too close to a weevil, and in his need to intimidate decided he would push it out of the way. When the weevil felt the touch he reacted as a weevil would towards another weevil. The massive paw came around in a wide arc and caught the man in the center of the chest. Between weevils it would have been considered a warning. In this case, it broke the man's breastbone and drove a piece of rib straight into his heart. Blood bubbled up in his mouth and he slid to the floor.

          “Anyone else?” Ianto asked softly. “These are not doped up. Which one of you brave men want to take on an alert weevil?” There was no sound as the group drew itself in even more tightly. “Wise choice.”

          Jack came out of the office. “He's not here either.”

          Ianto closed his eyes and turned in a wide circle. Suddenly, he stopped, and, opening his eyes, pointed into the crowd. “Jack...”

          Jack made a complex gesture with his right hand. In the middle of the crowd, a paunchy middle-aged man with his arms around a much younger man gasped and fell to his knees. As he collapsed the glamour fell away and they saw Mark Lynch holding his throat with one hand, his other one still keeping a possessive grip on the young man's leg. The young man – a rather beautiful young thing dressed in the best style – kicked out and caught him above the hip. Lynch gave a short scream and let go. Released, the image of the boy blurred and dissolved as if someone had thrown acid on a painting. In his place was Owen, looking like murder.

          The crowd drew back as Ianto moved to put Mark Lynch in handcuffs. Where they had been between terrified and angry, now they were completely cowed by the easy demonstration of Jack's power. Owen pushed his way through them and went to kneel at Janet's side.

          “Oh, swetheart, what have they done to you?” He looked up. “Damn it, Jack, did you have to use her like this?”

          “She volunteered,” Jack said calmly. “Can you do anything for her?”

          Owen didn't answer. He tore away the boiler suit to examine the wound. It was obviously deep, and blood was still flowing from it. Owen pressed his hands on either side of it and closed his eyes. The sensitives in the room felt the healing magic flow out of him and enter the weevil's body. Heat built up around them until sweat was running down Owen's back.

          “He's going to put himself in hospital at this rate,” Ianto whispered to Jack.

          Lynch laughed. “For a weevil?”

          “I would prefer,” Ianto said, twisting the handcuffs until Lynch's arm was high behind him and the man was grimacing, “if you kept your mouth shut. Understanding kindness and selflessness is beyond you anyway.”

          Suddenly a low, throbbing hum filled the room. It was coming from the weevils' throats. Someone screamed. The air thickened, almost as if the oxygen was being sucked from it, then Janet's body heaved and she opened her eyes. Owen sat back on his heels, breathing hard.

          “All right,” Jack said, turning back to the crowd, “you idiots can go. You better hurry, though. Those are police sirens in the distance.”

          “What about me?” Lynch asked with a sneer. “Weevils aren't human. There aren't any laws against treating them like animals. I might get a few months for cruelty to animals but that will be that. And I have enough high-priced solicitors that it won't even get to that.”

          “But we're not turning you over to the civil courts.” Jack bared his teeth in a humourless smile. “You're for the Church, and may God have mercy on your soul.”

          “You can't do that!”

          “Actually I'm one of the few that can. You will, of course, be allowed to contact your solicitors. They will explain it all to you.”

          “You bastard,” Lynch hissed. “You think you're untouchable, don't you? You're not, you know. It's coming for you, Harkness. I've seen it. “ He touched his temple. “There's a darkness coming for you.”

          “Probably. But not tonight.” Jack turned to the weevils. “You must go now. We'll look after her.”

          There was a moment's stillness, and then a low growl came from Janet's throat. They weevils shuffled towards the gaping hole on the wall where the door used to be and then broke into a run. As if released from some sort of spell, the humans in the room began to run too, the ones in the mezzanine nearly killing themselves in their rush to get downstairs.

          “Owen,” Jack asked. “Can Janet travel?”

          “Yes. I might be the one with the problem,” Owen half-joked. “I'm exhausted.”

          Gwen and Tosh ran to him and helped him to stand. Jack lifted Janet in his arms. “Let's go.”

          They were met by Andy and Kathy Swanson, and were relieved of Mark Lynch. The trip back to the Hub was done in silence. Once there, Jack helped Owen settle Janet down in her room while Ianto made coffee and Tosh and Gwen compiled the files that would be presented to the Bishop's Court. It took several hours to finish, and by then they were all yawning.

          “Let's head home. Don't argue with me, Owen.” Jack handed him a monitor. “It's set up so you can keep an eye on Janet. If she goes into any sort of distress the monitor will beep you. Everyone on the slab.”

          They crowded together as the slab moved up. The cold morning air was charged with moisture, but it hadn't began to rain yet. Ianto chuckled and nudged Gwen, who was leaning on his shoulder, eyes closed.

          “Hey, Gwennie, you have a ride home.”

          Her eyes snapped open and she looked around. Rhys was standing a short distance away, looking towards the tourist office. She let go of Ianto's arm and jumped off the slab.

          “Rhys!” She ran to him and nearly threw herself into his arms before she remembered what stood between them. Instead she reached out to place a tentative hand on his cheek. “Rhys?”

          He smiled at her, and went down on one knee, offering the ring box up. “Will you marry me, Gwen?”

          She took the box then pulled at Rhys's jacket until he stood up. This time she did throw herself at him, so hard that he staggered back.

          “Oi, girl, let's not end this in the fountain, yeah?”

          They heard applause and catcalls and looked around to find the rest of the team cheering them on. Gwen laughed and pulled Rhys's face down for a proper snog.

          “You can't go back on it now,” she whispered when they lips finally parted. “I've got witnesses.”

          “Same goes, wife. Same goes.”


	5. Coda

          “So Gwen and Rhys are engaged,” Jack mused.

          He made himself more comfortable, leaning back against Ianto's chest and tucking his head in the curve of Ianto's shoulder. They were stretched out on Ianto's sofa, half-sitting against one of the high armrests, Jack cradled between Ianto's legs, a handmade quilt thrown over their bare feet. Cups of chocolate and a plate of biscuits were within easy reach on the nearby table. They were tired but unable to sleep.

          “It nearly didn't happen,” Ianto said. “I overheard her telling Tosh she had told Rhys about her one night stand with Owen.”

          “What is it with women and confessions?” Jack nibbled lightly on Ianto's neck. “They either live whole lives keeping back life and death matters or babble about inconsequential things at the drop of a hat.”

          “Infidelity is inconsequential?” Ianto said softly, but there was an edge to his tone.

          “Infidelity is never inconsequential,” Jack said. “But what Gwen did wasn't infidelity. If Rhys had been here it wouldn't have happened at all, because she would have gone home and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, dragged him into bed, and fucked him into insensibility. But she had spent the whole night in the most terrifying situation of her life and the man who had helped her through it was the only one available. Did you notice how they tip-toed around each other afterward?”

          Ianto laughed as he wrapped his arms around Jack's middle. “Poor Owen nearly jumped out of his skin whenever Gwen came into the room. And she kept needing shooting practice.”

          “Once they realized they really wanted nothing from each other but friendship it all went back to normal.” Jack stroked Ianto's wrist absently. “The whole episode could have been first ignored and then forgotten.”

          “I think I understand her,” Ianto said. “From things she's said, her parents have a very strained marriage. She probably wanted to avoid their mistakes. No lies, no evasions. Nothing to surprise them later on.”

          Jack's answer was a soft hum. Ianto didn't know whether that meant he was agreeing or not. He often wondered exactly what Jack thought about this relationship of theirs. No, not relationship, it was a hell of a lot more than that. Love affair? Partnership? He knew that everyone, from the girl at the Chinese takeaway to Mother Katherine, thought of them as a couple. Duw, Jack's invitation from the Prince and Princess of Wales for this year's Trooping of the Welsh Colours had been addressed to both of them! But whether Jack thought of them as a couple, Ianto couldn't tell. He behaved as though he did, but he had never said anything.

          For the first time in his masculine life he understood a woman's insistence on talking things out.

          “I wonder,” Jack said drowsily, “if we should buy the flat next door.”

          “What?”

          “The flat next door is for sale, didn't you notice? This one is great, but it doesn't have a proper guest suite. We could reconfigure the two into a large place with three suites, a big library, and a nice-sized reception room with kitchen. What do you think?”

          As Ianto's silence lengthened, Jack started to feel uncertain. Maybe Ianto liked the monogamous but without strings arrangement. Officially moving in together would cement everything into place. Maybe Ianto wasn't ready for that yet.

          The answer finally came but it wasn't verbal. Ianto slid his hand into Jack's hair and turned him until their mouths were touching. His tongue outlined Jack's lips until Jack's mouth opened, and then plunged in, a naked act of possession that made Jack moan low in the back of his throat. Jack's hand came up to grip Ianto's shoulders as he leaned into the kiss.

          They broke apart to look at each other, and each saw the answer in the other's eyes. Smiles broke through and they kissed again. This time it was slow, leisurely; now that they were sure of each other, now they _understood_ , they had all the time in the world. It went on and on as they licked and sucked, exploring every sensitive spot, finding every delicious weakness.

          Finally, Ianto dragged his mouth away. “Bed?”

          “Why? Right here is perfect.”

          Jack sat up, grabbing the quilt as it slid off. They had started a fire – they both liked it better than central heating on cool, chilly evenings – and now Jack laid the quilt down on top of the hearth rug, a careful distance away from the elegant ironwork fire screen. He gave Ianto a lazy, provocative smile and started to strip.

          Ianto's mouth dried as he watched Jack's clothes come off. It wasn't an exhibition – though he was sure Jack knew and exploited the fact that Ianto was utterly besotted by the way Jack's spine curved when he canted his hip – but the deliberate way he unbuttoned and unzipped drove Ianto nearly mad with lust. He watched as Jack pushed his trousers and pants down his legs, stepped out of them, and stood straight as a soldier on parade, fully aroused, his gorgeous body gilded by the fire light.

          He stood up and walked to where Jack waited. This close he could smell Jack's arousal, and the scent sent shock waves through him. Suddenly his trousers were too tight, his jumper too warm. He stripped in a rush, with no elegance, just wanting to be as naked as Jack was. The moment the last piece of clothing was tossed aside, Jack pulled him close.

          “I want you inside me tonight. I want you to take me, own me. No, don't look scared.” He traced Ianto's brow, the curve of his cheek, the line of his jaw. “You won't hurt me. I _know_ you won't. After tonight, you will know it too.”

          He knelt on the quilt, smiling up at Ianto, then he leaned forward and trailed his lips along the underside of Ianto's engorged penis, from the base to the tip. The sensation made Ianto moan, and his hips bucked forward, searching for the wet heat of Jack's mouth, wanting more. Jack obliged, opening his mouth wide and swallowing him as deeply as he could. Ianto's moan turned into a shout as he felt Jack's throat muscles massage the head of his cock.

          Jack kept it up for a few seconds, then released him. Grabbing one of the floor pillows Ianto had scattered near the fireplace, he laid back on it, propping himself up on one elbow. “Come here and make love to me, cariad.”

          Ianto stared down at his lover – at his love – and felt the fear evaporate. No matter what he was, what he had become, he would never hurt Jack. He felt as if a heavy chain had fallen away, and he was completely free for the first time in his life. He reached into the top drawer of the side table and pulled out a small tube. Kneeling at Jack's side, he showed it to him.

          “Are you sure?”

          Jack's only answer was to turn over on his stomach. Ianto nearly drooled at the sight of the perfect curves, at the indentation of the spine as it met the waist, at the sweep of muscle up to the broad shoulders. He opened the tube and poured a generous amount of gel on his fingers, then spread Jack's buttocks and started to prepare him gently. As his fingers breached Jack for the first time, he leaned over and pressed a line of sucking kisses across Jack's shoulders and along his spine, leaving tiny red circles in his wake. Moaning, Jack began to rock back on his fingers, trying to impale himself. Ianto placed a hand on the small of his back and pressed down.

          “Not yet, love. Lift up that lovely arse a little. Yes, just like that.”

          He reached underneath Jack and wrapped his fingers around Jack's erection and started pumping as he searched for and found Jack's prostate. The combination of gentle pumps and insistent massage made Jack howl and arch backwards.

          “God, Ianto, please, stop, I'm going to come, please, yes, please!”

          Ianto leaned down and bit down on jack's buttock as his fingers speared inside his arse. Jack screamed one more time and came, flooding Ianto's hand, then slid down bonelessly, face buried in the pillow. Ianto reached for another pillow and pushed it underneath Jack's stomach.

          “It'll get filthy,” Jack said drowsily.

          “Dry cleaner,” was the terse answer as Ianto positioned himself at Jack's entrance and pressed in until he was as deep as he could. Jack uttered a soft sound too sleepy to be a moan, and clenched his buttocks to draw him deeper. Ianto stretched out over him, burying his face against Jack's neck.

          “Like this. Yes?”

          “Yes.”

          They rocked together gently, almost not moving at all; they weren't in any hurry. Jack twisted slightly, seeking Ianto's mouth. Ianto straddled Jack's hips and arched down to make the meeting easier. They kissed again and again, alternating short nips with long explorations. Heat built until they were being seared from the inside out, and yet there was so much pleasure in it that they delayed the ending as long as they could, until they could stand it no longer. When it came it was not an explosion but a long shuddering slide into a warm ocean, a silent drowning in perfect pleasure.

          After a few minutes – or a few hours, they couldn't tell – Ianto withdrew and lay down next to Jack, head propped in the same pillow. Jack opened one eye and looked at him.

          “So do we buy the flat?”

          Ianto laughed softly. “Yes. We do."


End file.
